


Fertile Ground

by Hometowne



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Demons Have a Dick and a Pussy, Fantasy Hybrid Genitalia, First Devil Trigger, Loss of Virginity, Near Death Experiences, Vaginal Sex, Violence and Gore, demon biology, mentions of puberty, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hometowne/pseuds/Hometowne
Summary: “Just the two of you? Vermin,” the boy hisses, putting on airs, a cornered animal posturing his size. He’d thought he was safe here for now. All of that preliminary scouting turned up no traces of demonic activity, no aura or scent of a territory, no telltale sulfur tinge to the air of an underworld portal, so—what are these scavengers doing here?Vergil's unfortunate experience with a demon mob and the awakening of his inner devil.
Relationships: Demons/Vergil
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Fertile Ground

“Sssspaaaardaaaa....”

It isn’t the first time Vergil has run into these repulsive creatures hunting blood payment for his father’s sins, but this night his troubles will be rewarded with something quite different from lingering cuts and bruises.

At twelve years old the Yamato is still far too big for him, almost comically held in two practiced, unwavering hands, all-too aware that this alley is a dead end.

“Just the two of you? Vermin,” the boy hisses, putting on airs, a cornered animal posturing his size. He’d thought he was safe here for now. All of that preliminary scouting turned up no traces of demonic activity, no aura or scent of a territory, no telltale sulfur tinge to the air of an underworld portal, so—what are these scavengers doing here?

The long tongue of a Riot demon flickers languidly into the air, scenting like a serpent. They’re easily several times Vergil’s size but he’s surprisingly light and quick enough on his own feet to handle them. It won’t be easy but he’s done this plenty of times before. Demons were relentlessly after him, and he was proud of himself for having paid so much astute attention to his father’s lessons.

_Unlike—_

He banished the thought as the second hulking lizard begins scenting the air.

“You’re in _my_ territory. I won’t ask you twice to leave.”

A hiss that’s somehow dismissive.

“Foolisssh child of Sssparda—your fer-tile reek has drawn usss from m-any leagues,” it articulated disjointedly from a savage mouth, an alien tongue, in the broken and strained syllables of hell forced painfully into english.

Fertile? The boy scowls, unable to guess at what they could mean. He didn’t think he smelled any different at all. He’s even careful to keep himself clean in accessible water sources—public restrooms, fountains, the river—hoping he’d be better able to cover his trail. He has been a little wetter between the legs than usual, and the sudden thought of it nearly causes him to blush with the embarrassment that these animals might be able to tell.

Something treacherous clenches in his chest and twitches in his loins at the thought.

“Fine then, be gon—“ a third Riot he hadn’t sensed is already upon him from behind, striking him over like he’d been run down by a car. _Damn! Why didn’t I sense him? Why is this damned air so thick with musk?_

Furious to have been made a fool of, Vergil rolls to the side, back on his feet, arcing that too-big sword in a calculated sweep that easily dismembers the attacking Riot. It recoils with a monstrous shriek, clawing helplessly at its own spraying stump, the sight of it filling Vergil with a confident and familiar lust for more of their pain. They’ll be sorry they ever crossed paths with a son of Sparda, them and all of the pests who’ve tried before.

Vergil whirls with the grace of a dancer, weaving around the attacking lizards, searching for the prime window for a counter. But there’s too many of them (is there a fourth now? He hadn’t noticed—), he needs some distance. As much as it hurts his budding pride there may be too many for him to handle at a disadvantage like this. And they’re behaving strangely, almost playful, jeering amongst themselves and scenting the air. Beginning to feel a little too much like a trapped animal himself, he feints to one side—a costly choice.

He meets the cool dampness of the brick wall with enough force to stun him temporarily, swatted like a fly by the taunt muscular coil of tail. He’s still seeing stars when a ragged pain in his arm steals the breath from his lungs in a scream he barely registers as his own.

Biting him—tearing him.  
_Clumsy, foolish boy_ , he can almost hear in his father’s long dead voice.  
_Your pride will cost you._  
He’s already dropped Yamato.  
He’s toothless without her.

* * *

His vision begins to fry at the edges. Dark spooling loops invading the corners of his world. The temptation is there to embrace it, were it not for his animalistic urge to survive. He doesn’t know how many of them are here now, too many clawed mockeries of hands are on him to count, too many thick syrupy tongues flickering for a taste of him.

 _They’re going to eat me_ , he thinks, scared like a child. He thinks some of them already have. The chill he can feel in some parts of him bite far too deeply to be against skin. His clothes are in tattered ruins, ribbons of fabric still clinging to him while he’s handled and inspected like a caught fish. A glint of light flashes off of Yamato’s golden ornamentation, a hopeful star in Vergil’s dark sky that he reaches for with a strained hiss. She’s too far out of his reach, and no amount of stretching will summon her to him as if by divine magic. Instead, the creatures flip him over and presses his face into the asphalt streaked with grime and gore.

 _His_ gore, he realizes with a distant embarrassment. Mostly. The iron taste of his own blood in his mouth mixed putridly with whatever old rancid film coats the streets of back alleys. Oil, garbage. It’s violating to be spilled open like this. Shameful.

There must be even more of them now because their heavy presence has filled his alarmed senses. The aura is strangling, violent, crawling with the naked yawning horror of the darker reaches of Hell, vicious tendrils of sulfurous pressure. Time skips beats on the scratched record of his perception. He is gasping and sputtering the thick air into his own blood-splashed pavement, nauseous and feeling as though he’s breathing through a cloud of smoke, when the first of them runs a thick rope of tongue up the cleft of his legs.

He gasps, immediately choking on inhaled blood and debris. What are they doing? Are they just playing with him? He tries to writhe but a heavy weight mercilessly pins his head and shoulders to the wet pavement while another few sets of cold, clawed hands hike his naked legs into the air. A probing, wet serpent’s tongue pushes against the folds of his cunt and he whines in a sound that seems alien and far to him. He’s old and wisened enough from his time spent in public libraries to know what these parts of him are for, but inexperienced enough to guess that devils would want anything to do with it.

The powerful, slimy tongue coils around his soft cock and his body gives an involuntary twitch of horrified pleasure in response. Is this what they want? He desperately tries to calculate the odds of being left alive once they’ve had their fill but he feels foolish for daring to hope. When the snaking tongue pushes back through his folds and inside of him this time he yelps a sharp noise. Nothing’s ever been in there before. He has long since given in to his own curious, young desires in the past and touched himself, fingered his opening, jerked himself off, but never dared to insert anything.

The tongue pushes in deeper with a warm, signaling pain running up his spine. His opening is so small that even this feels like it’s tearing something, and he’s alarmed to feel just how deeply it probes until it hits a dull painful wall somewhere inside of him. More alarming, it pushes beyond even that, into some deep forbidden crevasse of his unspoiled womb and he growls gutturally in response. A fresh wave of adrenaline spikes through his recovering flesh and he lurches in their grasps, rumbling like a feral creature. Irritated by his writhing, they move to subdue him once again. The weight on his back shifts and a hot mouthful of jagged teeth clamps down on the back of his neck. His growling cuts into an abrupt scream that he hopes in the back of his mind that someone, somewhere will hear.

The teeth press in further and give him a helpless rag doll’s shake, his blood flowing freely and mixing with the thing’s stinking saliva. He’s weakened again, his briefly regained strength ebbing from his limbs alongside the lifeblood from his neck and he can feel the world growing mercifully faint again. The creature removes its jaws before it can permit him to fade, allowing his unnatural healing to do its work while that tongue withdraws from him.

Instead it’s replaced with something new. A throbbing wetness pushes up against his slit and he knows at once what it is.

“Kill you—“ he manages weakly, unable to see anything but the grime of the asphalt and the impartial brick wall in his faded, periscope vision, “I’ll kill you all.”

The hissing in his ear sounds like a laugh when the thing behind him hikes his legs cruelly and shoves itself inside.

Pain, white hot and brand new tears through him, lighting up every nerve in his body. _Too big_ , it’s far too big, he’ll tear at the seams like the scream that tears from his bloodied mouth. Tears sting his clouded eyes and he bites his own tongue when a creature shifts and grinds his head against the pavement, trying to silence him. It was his mistake in thinking the demon was already in as far as it could go. Clammy hands angle his hips and the stinking lizard sinks its cock in to the scaled hilt. Vergil can’t scream anymore, his whole body is alight with burning sensation and starbursts cloud his vision. It’s impossible to think of anything but the pain smoldering on every nerve ending when the creature pulls back just to drive into him again.

It’s already pumping into him at a steady rhythm, angling too-far down into his guts, stretching him.

 _Killing me, it’s killing me, its scrambling up my insides_. Surely he’d be dead were it not for his demonic healing allowing this much stress and elasticity. Even so, he can feel a soupy weight in his guts like he’s bleeding in there. The creature picks up the pace, ramming into him from cruel angles, he can feel its unnatural cock twitching inside of him. He’d just begun to mercifully adjust to this fullness when the thing comes inside of him with a guttural screech.

The burning hot liquid from the lizard pumps and spurts inside of him, too much for him to handle and splattering out ingloriously on to pavement. Molten demon seed burns him from the inside, a belly full of smoldering coals that jerks the tears from his eyes and a pathetic whine from this throat. When the Riot pulls out of him he can feel the river of its filth dripping out of him with it and he’s disgusted by the thought of that animal polluting him like this. He hasn’t the time to recover from the thought when the next lizard has probed a new, pulsing cock too-deep inside of him.

They take turns like this, wearing Vergil down with violence, pounding into him until he’s dazed and full of their revolting fluids. He has the far-off, almost comical vision of something he once saw in an issue of National Geographic. A mating ball, they’d called it, of writhing snakes on a fertile female. He’d laugh if he had the energy, but he’s going to die like this. These creatures, having their way with him, feasting on him, he’s going to die pumped full of their unworthy seed with his royal flesh dissolving in their bellies.

His nerves are so overwhelmed with the constant pain that the panic signals have begun to fade into miserable background static. He doesn’t moan much when the next one steps up behind him, when another one snaps down on his limp arm and twists it clean off. Through heavily lidded eyes he watches his own blood soak the pavement from the savaged stump of his arm, looking like some ghoulish scraps he’s scavenged from the back of the butcher’s shop before. He observes a saurian creature throw back and devour his dismembered arm with detached and fading curiosity while another of them jerks on his legs, filling him to the terrible beat of scaly hide slapping and scraping his bruising flesh.

* * *

In a kinder, warmer place he is sitting content in the sun streaking in from the picturesque window. A book open in his lap, the words swimming into view through a dream haze. His brother is sprawled out like a cat, sleeping beside him, worn out from some earlier adventure. Vergil reaches to push tangled white hair out of Dante’s face when a warm feeling floods his guts—not painful, but an immeasurable love for the quietly snoring, perfect twin.

_You and I are one.  
It was a cruel, unnatural joke that we should ever be separated.  
  
But it’s going to be okay. I’ll come back to you now, on the other side of this. Our family can be whole again. I’m sorry, little brother. I was supposed to look after you. I’m sorry that I ever made you wait. But I wanted something. _

“What did you want?”

_I wanted revenge.  
I wanted to be powerful.  
I wanted to tear down our family’s killer, I wanted to hunt him down, make him pay, make him beg. _

“Is that all?”  
  
_I…wanted to live._  
  
“Are you afraid?”  
  
_Yes, terribly._

Dante is gone now, Vergil notices with some unease. That doesn’t seem fair.

“Vergil.”  
  
He glances to the mantle where Yamato is hung, her gold glinting like so many beautiful gems in the sunlight. His birthright.

 _Where’s Dante?_  
  
“You will not find him here, child of Sparda.”

Vergil frowns down at his lap, but the book is gone too into some uncaring void. His world is fading, and he knows with a primal little tinge of muted fear that he will be next. But he can’t go like this, not alone, not if Dante isn’t here. It isn’t _fair_.

“Dante is not in this lonely oblivion.”  
  
_He’s not?_  
  
“Do you want to be here?”  
  
No.  
_No._  
  
Yamato is gone, in her place is the coiled golden dragon from her grip, the one that’s cleverly guarded behind interwoven tsukamaki, the one that he often fingers thoughtfully, wistfully, reverently. She’s so brilliant, so massive, she fills every corner of his perception. Her coils radiate with such tempered power that he feels sheltered in her protective, maternal presence.

“Will you die here, Vergil?”  
  
_No. Not to these vermin. It is unbecoming of me, of you._

“You still have so much to become.”  
  
_I still have so much to become. I’m going to become radiant, I’m going to become powerful, I’m going to become untouchable, I’m going to take it back._

“Take what back?”  
  
_My self._

He swears he can see a smile on her fanged maw, on Yamato’s teeth. Or maybe his own teeth and fangs, a mirror of himself. An extension of his soul. He reaches for her, and something brilliant ruptures inside of him.

* * *

Vergil lights up in the dark, filthy alleyway like a condensed supernova.

The concussive force throws the pack of demons, splits the pavement beneath them, blows the old brickwork clear off of the building’s face. The demons panic, hissing and scattering from one another, but their boy prey is gone. In his place is something else. Something monstrous.

His fresh scales glint a kaleidoscope of royal blues and silvers in the moonlight, his deadly dragon’s claws and fangs tear through the wretched lizards as if they were made of nothing more resilient than wet paper mache. Each and every one of them is reduced to little more than pulp and quivering rags of flesh in Vergil’s vengeful talons.

His whole body is alight with his burning spirit, alive with fresh, untapped power coiled viciously in every fibre of muscle. He is surprised to find that he has wings, that he’s been using them like a natural extension of himself, propelling from creature to creature like he’s known how to do this his entire life. The metamorphosis, and the rush, is short lived. It couldn’t have been any longer than a few seconds but that was all the time Vergil needed.

He’s back again, from wherever he was, from _whatever_ he was, heaving air out of his lungs in wet, savage panting. He’s naked, streaked in grime and gore, but most importantly he is whole. Fascinated, he looks over his arm, flexing it in stupid wonder. Had he imagined losing it? Somehow, he doesn’t think so. Stumbling, muscles aching like he’s come down from some kind of hangover, he moves to Yamato on the shaky legs of a newborn deer and lifts her off the ground.  
  
He catches his own reflection in her blade, his eyes wild and his ivory hair slack with dark blood. He makes for quite the sight. Vergil can’t help but crack a smile that breaks into a mirthless laugh. He’s still laughing like a boy possessed when he collects Yamato’s scabbard and sheaths her protectively away. He claps his filthy hand to his face and laughs helplessly into it until it becomes an unrecognizable animal caterwaul. Every demon in the vicinity who overhears chooses wisely to steer clear of this creature for the night.

The sound of a distant human’s police siren tears Vergil from his wild daze and brings him back to the present, standing nude in this alley drenched in carnage and filth. He flees the scene in the cover of shadows, making for his nearest hideaway, where he will have stashed a change of clothes and something comfortable to rest on.

But this is secondary to the most pressing thought on his mind.

He thinks back to that sunlit room, his brother at his side.

_Dante is alive._

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this brought some kind of catharsis, I hope reading it might as well. If you didn't mind the tags and have a bone to pick, just move along.


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